The Cowboy Takes a Wife

by Davalynn Spencer

  He followed her with his eyes and watched her assign his worn felt to a peg on the back wall. Daniel filled a tin mug and raised it in Caleb’s direction.

  “Coffee’s hot, son. Come have a cup.”

  Caleb took the mug and a chair and felt as naked as a jay under Daniel’s sober scrutiny.

  Caleb glanced at the tree. “That’s quite a spruce you’ve got there, Mr. Whitaker.”

  “That it is,” Whitaker said, lifting his gaze to the tall evergreen at the window. Sorrow slipped across his features, landing briefly in his eyes.

  “That tree nearly cost me the most precious thing in my world.” He blinked a time or two and rubbed the back of his hand beneath his nose.

  “Now, Daddy.” Annie tightened her apron sash and gathered tin plates from the sideboard. “We’ve the good Lord to thank and Caleb here.” She shot a bright look his way.

  Caleb smiled at her, unaware that he was fingering the hole worn in the elbow of his shirt. When her eyes landed there, he pulled his hand away, but Annie was already talking to her father.

  “Daddy, I believe Caleb could use some help with a new shirt.” A look passed between them that Caleb didn’t quite understand.

  Daniel’s watery eyes took in Caleb’s cotton shirt, and he pushed out of the chair with a grunt. “I’ve got a wool shirt that might fit you. And good cloth that Martha could sew up in no time.”

  Caleb set his cup beneath his chair and followed Daniel to the front. The storekeeper reached under the counter and pulled out two waistcoats, heavy socks and a deep blue wool shirt that probably cost half the wages Caleb had managed to save.

  He fingered the dark wool, felt the promise of warmth and knew he’d be a fool not to buy it. He set it aside and pulled the notepaper and Cañon City Times from his waistcoat and laid them on top. Then he unbuttoned a heavier tweed waistcoat that looked like it fit and exchanged it for the lighter one he wore. Already he felt better knowing he’d sleep warmer tonight beneath the quilt and canvas.

  “I’ll take this waistcoat and the shirt,” he said, digging his money from the old waistcoat pocket. “And a soap bar, if you’ve got it.”

  Daniel reached into a box shelved halfway up the wall. “If you need it, we’ve got it.” Then he tore a large square of brown paper from a roll on the counter, laid the shirt and Caleb’s old waistcoat in the center and topped it with the soap and two pairs of heavy socks before wrapping it all together with twine.

  “That’ll be two dollars.” A cocked brow dared an argument.

  Caleb laid his money on the counter, fully aware that Daniel Whitaker was giving him five dollars’ worth of merchandise, at least by Saint Joseph standards. It was all probably worth a lot more out here, but he’d not assault the man’s dignity by arguing.

  “Thank you.”

  Daniel’s mustache twitched on his kindly face, and Caleb thought of Saint Nicholas, but a sadder saint this time.

  “I’ll leave this here until I go.”

  “Go? We’ve got a tree to decorate and I can use all the help I can get stringing chokecherries and popcorn.”

  Annie stood before the stove, a plate in each hand, loose hair curling against her neck—the most beautiful sight Caleb had set eyes on in his entire life.

  “You hear that?” Daniel blew his nose and returned the handkerchief to his back pocket. “You’ll not get away without poking a hole in every one of your fingers.”

  Caleb laughed but glanced out the window at the steadily falling snow. He’d stay just long enough to eat and then get back to the livery.

  Returning to his chair, Caleb accepted the heaped plate Annie offered and waited until she had seated herself between her father and him.

  Daniel bowed his head and began nearly before his daughter had settled.

  “Thank You, Lord, for protecting my Annie.” His voice cracked, and he paused to clear his throat. “And thank You for sending Caleb when You did and for this food and the strong roof over our heads. Amen.”

  The memory of Annie pinned beneath Cooper pushed itself unwelcomed into Caleb’s mind. He forced his thoughts instead to the stately spruce in the store window and last year’s tree in the parsonage decorated by the Women’s Society. Glittering guilt tried to top the pine, but he doggedly knocked it away and replaced it with gratitude.

  Cañon City might just be where he belonged. For what reason he wasn’t yet sure, but he hoped it had something to do with a certain storekeeper’s auburn-haired daughter.

  * * *

  Annie pushed hard against the door after Caleb left. Thin powder drifted through a gap at the bottom and swirled against her shoes. She hugged her arms across her chest and watched until he disappeared into the blowing snow. Without his duster he’d be frozen solid by the time he made it to the livery. Thank goodness she’d given him another quilt before he left.

  She began to shiver and retreated to the stove. Her father sat sipping his coffee and staring at the potbelly. She had to get his mind off the Cooper incident—for her sake as well as his.

  Caleb had assured them that the people’s court would meet soon to deal with Cooper. At least that was what the magistrate had promised.

  Annie had made the acquaintance of several men who served on the court—upstanding citizens who often visited when they came for their mail or shared coffee round the stove. Edna had been right about one thing: there was no law in Cañon City. At least not like they had in Omaha. No sheriff or marshal yet, but these men didn’t seem to brook much nonsense. She’d already seen a couple of scoundrels run out of town, and she prayed the same fate would befall Jedediah Cooper.

  She filled the dishpan from a crock by the wall and set it on the stove. Gazing at the beautiful spruce in the window, she tried to shift her thoughts to Christmas, which was only two weeks away. Oh, for the delicate ornaments that adorned Aunt Harriet’s tree, and the crèche that held the highest honor on the mantel. Mary, Joseph and baby Jesus tucked into the stable—

  With a jolt Annie thought of the livery and Nell. She hadn’t checked on the mare in several days, and she’d forgotten to ask Caleb about her condition.

  What if Nell foaled during the storm? And needed help?

  Caleb was there.

  Relief nestled in her thoughts. He knew what to do.

  Warmth threaded through her arms, and she doubted it came from the water bubbling in the dishpan. She shaved in soap curls and from the corner of her eye noted her father’s pensive mood.

  “As soon as this weather lets up, we could invite Martha and Caleb and the Smiths over for a tree trimming. What do you think?”

  Her father let out a deep sigh, then stood and added his cup to the dishpan. “I think that’s a fine idea, Annie girl. A fine idea.” He planted a kiss on her cheek and twisted the end of his mustache. Turning his back to the stove, he clasped both hands behind him and looked through the front windows.

  “I doubt we’ll have any more customers today,” he said.

  Annie scrubbed the plates. “I’m sure glad Nell’s in a safe, warm place.” Her heart fluttered like a sparrow at her throat, but she pressed on. “I’ve been meaning to tell you, but Nell’s in a...”

  Waiting for the right words to form on her lips, Annie gathered her skirt in her hands, lifted the dishpan from the stove and set it on the back counter.

  “In a what? A stall? ’Course she is, and I still don’t think it’s worth what I’m paying to board her. Can’t sell her now, but come spring, I’m sure the Turks or Deacons will offer a good price.”

  Annie’s pulse quickened, but she straightened her back and lifted her chin. “She’s in a family way, Daddy. She’s carrying a foal.”

  His gasp sucked the air from the back of the store, and Annie clamped her mouth tight to guard her own desperate breath.

  “How lon
g have you known?”

  She glanced over her shoulder. Surprise, rather than anger, rimmed his eyes.

  “Caleb told me. I’d thought she was just getting a hay belly, but he said he expects her to foal sometime around Christmas.”

  If she phrased it right, she might still turn things around. She shook her hands over the dishpan and rubbed them against her apron before joining her father at the stove.

  “Isn’t it wonderful, Daddy? A Christmas foal. A new little life in the stable, just like—”

  He pulled her into a hug and kissed the top of her head. “I feel you twisting me around your finger, Annie Whitaker.”

  He chuckled, and the laughter shook her as he held her close.

  “But I guess it’s as Martha says—the more the merrier.”

  Gratitude filled Annie’s heart, and she inched back from her father’s embrace. “Speaking of Martha, is there anything you’d like to tell me?”

  Her father harrumphed and sputtered and flushed from his collar to his snowy crown. But his eyes took on a mischievous gleam, and he pinched Annie’s chin like he had when she was little.

  “Don’t avoid the subject, Daddy. Will there be a wedding this spring instead of a horse sale?”

  His full-bellied laugh bounced Annie from his arm and she sent a silent thank-you heavenward.

  “How did you know?”

  “I’d have to be blind and deaf not to.” Annie returned to the dishpan. She’d worry about details later—details like living alone in the back room once her father moved into Martha’s home. Right now she wanted to share his good news with a clear heart.

  “I’m not blind, either, Annie girl.”

  She looked up from the water.

  “What happened at the livery?”

  She rested her hands on the edge of the dishpan, noting her father’s calculating expression. He knew.

  “How long have you known?”

  He smoothed his mustache and sat down. “He told me a couple of weeks ago, but I suspected early on. Remember the morning I asked him to offer thanks? A prayer like that comes from a man who’s on a first-name basis with the Lord.”

  She picked up a plate and absently rubbed a cloth against its clean surface. “I think he’ll be returning to his calling.” Sadness gripped her belly, followed by regret that she would react so. She should be happy for Caleb, that he’d found his way back to the Lord and his life’s purpose.

  But where did that leave her?

  The front door rattled in a sudden forceful gust, and concern needled Annie. She looked to the half-empty coal bucket and back to the door, where a fine white powder swirled in eddies along the floor.

  Her father shrugged into his coat and headed toward the back door with the coal bucket. “Find towels for the doors and I’ll bring in more coal. We’ll probably need a full fire going all day and night.”

  Annie knelt at the trunk and withdrew thick blankets and fine linens intended for the table, not the floor. But they had no table, and staying warm was a priority. Aunt Harriet would be appalled.

  At the thought of her proud and proper relative, Annie’s heart squeezed with longing for her sister. And though she missed her sibling desperately, for the first time in her life she was grateful for their satin and calico differences. Grateful that she didn’t panic before a howling blizzard and the possibility of being snowbound for days. Grateful that God had brought her and her father safely to Cañon City, to people like the Smith family and Martha Bobbins and...

  And Caleb Hutton.

  With this wind, she easily imagined snow blowing through the slatted stable walls. Nell wasn’t the only one she prayed would be safe and dry and warm during the storm.

  She tossed extra blankets on the cots and took two finely hand-stitched dish towels to the front, where she weighted them against the door with flatirons. Not exactly the way she’d planned to use those embroidered dish towels from her hope chest, but at least she had them to use.

  Be grateful for small blessings.

  Indeed. Annie would not trade this narrow store and potbelly stove for all the finery and wealthy beaus Omaha could offer. Here she belonged.

  And here she would stay.

  * * *

  Caleb dropped his bundle by the stable doors and ran to bring Rooster and Sally inside. Shouldering all his weight against the broad panels, he managed to close them against the wind before too much snow blew into the alleyway.

  He led his horses to the last two empty stalls and tossed them each an armful of hay. Unsettled by the creaking rafters and whistling walls, a few of his charges blew and stamped nervously. Nell dozed in the ruckus, one back leg cocked at the knee and her eyes half-closed.

  Caleb heaved a heavy sigh. At least there’d be no delivery tonight.

  He pitched his bundle and the new quilt onto the bedroll, rousing the cat from her tight curl. She blinked once, stretched her toothy mouth in a wide yawn and recoiled herself against the quilt.

  Annie’s quilt.

  He knew because he’d held it to his face all the way back from the mercantile, breathing in her lovely scent. Did she really care that much about his well-being, care that he was warm during the storm?

  Henry had a fire in his forge, bless him, but he must have gone home to ride out the storm with his wife. The thought set a yearning inside Caleb stout enough to push him out into the wind and back to the mercantile. But what would he say? Marry me, Annie. Come live in the livery and be my wife.

  The sheer audacity of such a proposal embarrassed him. It would be a long while before he shared anything more than a simple meal with Annie Whitaker.

  He’d not ask her to share his life until he knew where and what that life would be.

  He unwrapped his bundle, tucked the soap in his pocket and took his water bucket to Henry’s furnace along with his new shirt. In the fire’s radiant warmth, he washed, then exchanged his thin cotton shirt for the new dark wool, grateful for the comfort and the fit. Whitaker was right.

  Back in his stall, Caleb lit the lamp and unfolded the Times. The main article was about the rise and progress of Cañon City. It mentioned all the buildings that were going up and how the city had weathered the “calamity that disheartened gold seekers had thrown upon it.”

  Caleb set the paper aside and lay back on his bedroll. Gold seekers weren’t the only disheartened souls who had sought out this far Kansas Territory. He reached for his Bible and let it fall open. Jeremiah again, the weeping prophet, and Mollie Sullivan’s picture. He studied the image of the woman smiling up from between the pages.

  Pretty, yes. Beguiling, certainly. A woman after his heart? Not at all. Never had been, he realized now.

  He took the Bible to Henry’s forge, where the fire lay dying in a cooling bank. With no malice or ill thoughts, he laid Mollie’s picture against a fading coal. “Bless her, Lord. And may she and her husband serve You.”

  The copper-edged image curled and shriveled to ash as he watched, and he sensed a small flame purging a place deep in his soul. He looked at the passage he had long ago marked in the nineteenth chapter of Jeremiah. The fire’s dim glow hardly illuminated the page, but the words had taken up residence in his memory.

  “For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the Lord, thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you an expected end.”

  The promised peace settled like a cloak around him. Outside the wind beat against the livery, and the building groaned in the onslaught. He wrapped his arms around his chest and held the book within them. Finally, after months of running, here in a barn, he could rest in God’s expected end. Not what he, Caleb, had expected, but what the Lord knew He had planned.

  With a deep sense of surrender, Caleb returned to the box stall, snuffed out the lamp and crawled beneath his canvas tarp, Annie’s
quilts and the enduring grace of a loving God.

  Chapter 14

  A blue china sky greeted Annie Sunday morning, the air as crisp and cold as deep well water. White drifts leaned against the Main Street buildings, and the roadway was a frozen, mudless track. In Omaha a storm like yesterday’s would have her sister and their aunt soaking dirty skirt hems after church for sure. Not to mention their fine cloth shoes.

  She snugged her scarf closer and waited on the boardwalk for her father.

  Only the Lord’s Day could still the perpetual hammering of the city’s rising. Though the community stretched and fussed with growing pains, life was simpler in this bare-bones mountain supply town. Her heart felt lighter knowing she didn’t have to compete with Edna’s fashionable clothing or cringe beneath Aunt Harriet’s glaring judgment of unruly hair.

  Annie knew she fell short of her aunt’s expectations, particularly where men were concerned. Not that Cañon City was teeming with eligible bachelors worth even a second glance. Most were lonely miners who drank too much, dusty cowboys in need of a good bath or entrepreneurs who knew a good investment when they saw one.

  Or a gentle horse handler who continued to occupy her thoughts and warm her heart. She took a forceful breath of sharp air to clear her mind.

  “Ready, Annie girl?”

  Her father shut the mercantile door and offered his arm. Grateful for the short walk to the church house, she curved her fingers inside his elbow. Buggies and buckboards lined the street beyond the church, and a few horses stood loosely tied to the livery’s hitching rail across the way, a location upon which her eyes so easily settled.

  The big front doors parted just enough for a peek into the shadowy stable. Heat wrapped around her neck at the thought of Caleb beneath her quilts, and she banished the vision with a quick prayer that he’d been warm and safe through the storm.

  Annie hiked her skirt to mount the church steps. Hannah Baker was not at her usual post at the door with her soon-to-be husband, Pastor Hartman. Surely a brisk winter storm had not been too much for the rancher’s daughter, always cheerful as a meadowlark, greeting everyone with her melodic voice and bright smile.